Just thoughts... The Art of Being No One




(n.) A tiny, brilliant flash or spark; a small thing; a barely visible trace.


One of my favourite poems reads: ‘the art of losing isn’t hard to master, so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost and their loss is no disaster…’.

These lines are graceful in their thrust; they dance with exquisitely subtle moves all the way into my heart and there - where they have been so kindly welcomed – they open fire, merciless and sweet.

Losing. It’s said that we don’t know what we have until it’s gone, is that true? And what happens with those who knew what they had? Those who loved it all the way…

Does deprivation ever come along with clemency?

What happens when what you lose is yourself? Or – as it is in most cases - the illusion of a self which never will be and never was, that little someone whom we watered and nourished until there was no more room for two inside - then we choose, who lives? Who dies?

The blood boils, craving for all the lives we’ll never get the chance to live again; neglected hopes pile one over the other - decomposing, waiting to one day fertilize some fruitful soil, some kinder ideation.  

Never in history did we have such a great need of being relevant - not necessarily only in what we do but in who we are; what we eat, where we go and with whom. This might be the first time since we are humans in which this happens in such a way. Long time has passed since talents hid themselves behind the veil of anonymity; in past time it was rather common for pieces to be sign by either Anonymous, Anon or a pseudonym in hope that the work (quite enhanced by mystery) would be stronger than the name. Anonymous floats over individuality like a grand god of the Olympus. And while suggesting humble honesty - without pretending to be anyone - anonymous surrenders into the beauty of being nobody.

The success of our personal identities is addictive. The fear of irrelevance has never been so strong and I can’t help but wonder what this means and what it says of all of us.

I don’t exist, I leave no trace - translucid. This is the art of being no one, and I must embrace it to survive.

Tonight I want to get lost there where thoughts go once they are forgotten… and learn. I’ve got nothing but petals, I’ve got nothing but a need of being covered by the night.